


Shelter From the Storm

by LilyK



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A big storm has Blair running for home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From the Storm

Thanks for my betas for their help. Thanks to AngelWings Press for originally publishing this story.  
Warning: lots of mush and romance

This story is from Blair's POV. The companion story, Something Happened on the Way to Heaven, is Jim's POV, which is posted at 852 Prospect. 

This story is a sequel to: Higher 

* * *

I can't believe how badly it's storming. Sure, Cascade is always cold. And wet. And rainy. We have like six sunny days a year. Pretty damned sad for a sunshine-loving, heat-seeking guy like me. But I've learned to live with it. At least until today. After all, I've lived in Washington for quite a while now, but this storm has everyone keyed up. 

I'm about three miles from home making a beeline for safety when it happens. Let me rephrase. When nothing happens. The Volvo dies. Bites the big one. Rolls over and sticks its four fairly good tires to the heavens. I say some frantic prayers but when I turn the key, I am rewarded with the sound of total silence. The engine doesn't even kick over. The key just clicks in the ignition. No lights. No radio. No nothing. I grip the steering wheel and shake the small car, shouting that it's not fair. I'm not surprised when the vehicle fails to respond to my anger. 

I take a deep breath and sigh, looking around. The windows are already steaming up and I rub a hand on the glass, peering out. The Volvo is off the road enough not to get plowed into by oncoming traffic. If there were oncoming traffic, that is. This storm has been predicted as being a killer, so most smart people have already sought shelter. I'm a smart person. That is exactly what I was trying to do. Making it to the loft was my goal. It still is. 

I grab my backpack and fish out the cell phone. I curse myself soundly as I hit the power button and get that beep. Yes, that beep. Dead battery. Shit. I toss the phone back into the backpack, push the backpack under the seat, pull the keys out of the ignition, lock the passenger's door, and take a deep breath. After a quick search that turns up a total lack of hat and gloves (fuck!), I hunch as deep into my jacket as I can. I throw open the driver's door and jump out, locking it behind me. I laugh sarcastically, thinking I should leave the keys in the damned thing. Maybe someone would steal it. Relieve me of this headache, at least. 

The rain is wet, obviously, and damned cold. So cold it's raining ice water and I'm soaked before I walk a quarter of a block. I stop, shoulders scrunched deep in the coat, and look up and down the highway. Not a pair of headlights in sight. So a cab is out of the question. No bus to be seen. I turn and trudge off as quickly as possible in the direction of the loft. After the first mile, I am so wet and frozen that only sheer determination keeps me going. 

I try to gain access to several stores on the way for a bit of respite, but with the power out, all the shopkeepers have closed up tight. The traffic lights aren't working. The phone at the booth on the corner isn't working either. I duck into a doorway to catch my breath when I hear a car approaching, so I run to the edge of the road and wave frantically, but the driver never even looks my way. After a while I don't even think about how cold I am any longer. I think about Jim. He'll be waiting. He'll have dinner and a hot drink. I concentrate on Jim, thinking about him and me. How good it feels to have a close friend to rely on, who cares about me. What our lives are going to be like in five or ten years. How much I hope we'll still be hanging together. How pissed he's going to be when he hears my car has died yet again. 

Now why would Jim be pissed? Well, actually, it's all my fault. Since I graduated from the Academy a while back, and since I now get a steady paycheck, and since I've managed to save some money for the proverbial rainy day, Jim's been bugging me to either (a) buy a new car or (b) put enough in the Volvo to restore it to good condition. I've thought about (a) a new car. Can't do that. I love the Volvo. So (b) seems like a good idea. I have the money actually. A couple of thousand stashed away. I've been able to keep up with the rent. I've been able to continue working towards finishing my Ph.D. (different diss, though). I've been able to save enough to put a down payment on a new car (Car payments! Just the thought creeps me out.) or to have the Volvo restored properly. So why don't I? Fix the Volvo, that is. 

Because I'm scared. I'm worried. Yeah, I know that sounds totally stupid. I'm scared and worried. I repeat it to myself as I splash through another ankle-deep puddle. Why the fuck are you scared? I can admit the truth to myself sometimes. Like when I'm depressed or unhappy. Well, this qualifies. I'm scared Jim will kick me out again and I'm worried that I won't have enough money to get another place. I won't be able to handle another episode like that 'other time'. But more importantly, I won't be with Jim any longer. In my own twisted way, I feel that if I have a couple of grand in the bank, I'm safe. Jim won't kick me out. Weird, huh? I can't help it. Money available equals Jim and security. I can't use the money to fix the Volvo because Jim will kick me out. I am so fucked up. 

Thoughts of Jim keep me occupied while my feet take me home unerringly. Thankfully, I am a fast walker. Colette's is just ahead. 

My hand is so cold that I can't close it around the door handle. Luckily it's the kind of door you pull, but I still have to use both hands to open it. I stop for a second just inside, catching my breath, reveling in the warmth of the building and the fact that I am finally out of the rain. I trudge up the stairs. When I make it to the loft door, I try to fish my keys from my pants' front pocket, but my jeans are too wet and my fingers too uncooperative to retrieve them. I tap on the door. Nothing happens. I tap again. And again. And again. I would yell at Jim to open up but I'm just too cold to talk. 

Once again, I knock frantically. I'm starting to get worried. I know Jim is home. His truck is out front. Maybe he's zoned. Maybe he's hurt. Maybe the storm has sent his senses on the fritz. Maybe... 

Suddenly Jim throws open the door. He stares at me for a heartbeat 

"What the fuck are you standing there for, you idiot?" Jim yells at me. 

I flinch and try to talk. "S-ss-orry, J-jimm. D-d-idn't w-want to-o get the flo-o-r mes-sssy." 

Jim's eyes rake me from head to toe. He grabs my arm and he scowls. "Oh, for God's sake, Chief." He hauls me into the loft and before I can think, he's pulling me in the direction of the bathroom, not even stopping when he snags the battery-operated camplight from the kitchen counter so we can see. 

I am shaking so badly that he takes one look at me and starts undressing me, layer by layer. And there are a lot of layers. Coat, sweater, two flannel shirts and a thermal shirt so far. I reach out to try and help a couple of times but Jim just smacks my hands away, 

"Sandburg, let me do this. You're freezing and shaking. You couldn't unbutton these if I paid you." Jim grumbles at me. I try to answer, but my teeth just chatter. I shake my head a bit. Even my neck feels out of control. Everything is so fucking cold. 

Jim grabs a towel and wraps it around my head. He pats down my hair and squeezes out the excess water. When he reaches my last shirt, he gathers it in his hands and pulls it off quickly, wrapping my shoulders with another warm bath towel. He rubs my arms and shoulders roughly, forcing a bit of warmth to creep back into my body. I sigh and close my eyes, enjoying even the beginnings of heat. 

Jim is still grumbling at me. "Damn it, Chief, was it that piece of crap car of yours?" he asks. 

"Y-yeah. Alterna-nator." I manage to blurt out semi-coherently. "Over on Ramp-part." 

Jim stops and looks at me. "Hell, Blair, that's three miles away. You walked three miles in this storm?" 

I shrug. What the hell else could I do? I mumble, "No phones. No bus-ses. No cabs." 

Jim just growls, "Right," as he fumbles with the button of the soaking-wet jeans. He's having trouble unsnapping the button so he tugs and grumbles until it finally releases. He slides down my zipper. I hold my breath when he unzips the jeans and I'm staring right at him when I see him flinch. The air suddenly seems charged with electricity. I try to take a step back and tell him to stop, but my throat seems to have frozen solid and no sound emerges. Jim stops, still holding onto the waistband of my pants. 

"Sandburg, take it easy. You don't have anything I haven't seen before. Believe me." Jim says. Feelings crash over me so quickly it takes my breath away. I'm upset. I feel scared. I'm starting to feel aroused. I'm going to laugh hysterically. I love you, Jim Ellison. Whoa, wait. Where the fuck did that come from? 

I focus back on Jim. He's talking to me. I force my brain to listen. 

"Come on, Chief, take it easy. It's okay." Jim says in a soft, soothing voice. I am instantly calmed and a warm feeling starts to creep over me. Maybe I'm defrosting. Maybe I'm sick. Maybe I'm in love. I'm still shaking, but I force myself to stand still as a tentative smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Damn, but I have some thinking to do. 

Jeans are very uncooperative when wet and cold so Jim has to peel the sodden denim from my body. The heat in the bathroom finally touches my skin. It feels great. I take a quick peek at Jim. Oh my God. He's staring at my dick through the wet boxers that are plastered to my body. My heart starts to race and my blood starts to burn. What the hell is going on? _Come on, Blair, you know exactly what's going on._ I feel the blood rush to my groin. I am not getting hard. I order myself fiercely. I close my eyes tightly, clenching my hands into fists and biting my lip. I order my dick: _No! Do not do this!_

I wait, trying to breathe. I hear the water in the shower start. I take a hasty glimpse and Jim's running his hand under the spray, testing the temperature. My heart melts. He cares whether or not the water's too hot or too cold. He must be in Sentinel protection mode. I think about that, too. It seems that I have a lot of thinking to do. At least I plan on thinking, when I feel Jim tug down the cold, wet boxers that are stuck to me like a second skin. Oh, shit. My tentative control fails. My heart starts to race and my breath comes out in short gulps. And then it happens. I can't stop it any more than I can stop the sun from rising or the rain from falling. I've got a hard-on. Fuck. 

Jim quickly pulls off my boxers and tosses them into the corner with the rest of the discarded clothing. He turns his back on me when he speaks. 

"Hey, Sandburg, go ahead and take a nice hard, ah, hot shower. And, I'll, ah, I'll get dinner off. I mean on. You need a good meal in your body...." Jim stops and he seems to be struggling to speak. "It will warm you right up," he blurts out, and then he bolts from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I finally release the breath I've been holding. What the hell was that? And what can of worms have I opened now? Worms remind me of fishing. Fishing reminds me of the time when Jim called me his little guppy. _Oh, for God's sake, Blair, your brain cells are sure screwed up tonight. Get a grip!_

I climb in the shower, letting the hot water caress my body. I sigh and the sounds of relief and contentment at the warmth escape my lips. I take advantage of the hot water to give my hair a quick wash. Then I scowl at my dick. It has a life of its own tonight. This unwanted erection needs to go away. I am tempted to turn on the cold water, but after this evening's foray in the rain, I just can't bring myself to do it. I grab my offending appendage and jerk off quickly. I come unenthusiastically. Anything to get this feeling out of my body. But even that orgasm does nothing for the want. The need. The desire. 

I sigh and shake my head. _This is not going to happen, Blair. Jim likes you. You are Jim's Guide. You're Jim's partner and friend. You are not Jim's lover. Never will be. Get that through your thick head and your stupid body._ I towel off, relishing the feel of the material's friction on my skin. Warmth is good. I grab Jim's old bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door. With a final admonishment to my uncooperative body and my finally limp dick, I go out into the kitchen. 

Jim is standing still, eyes closed. I'm alarmed for a second. Is he zoned? I stand in front of him, calling softly, "Jim?" as I touch his face gently. He jumps; then he blinks and shakes his head. I watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose. When he focuses on me, he grins. 

"Oh, hey, Sandburg. Sorry." Jim says, smiling at me. "I was zoned for a sec. I'm okay. You hungry?" 

I turn my head and sniff deeply. "Hell, yes. I'm starved. It smells good." I move towards him to ask if he needs any help putting things together, but he backs away from me. I'm scared for a second and raise a hand in defense. "Jim, I just wanted to help. I'm not going to touch you." 

Jim grimaces like he's in pain, but before I can speak, he smiles at me. "No, Blair, it's okay. Really. You just sit down and let me put the food on the table. Take it easy for a while. I've made coffee. You want a cup?" 

I look at him with surprise, but I manage to hide my feelings. Jim is rambling. Now why is that? Jim Ellison does not ramble. Jim's eyes are pleading with me not to press, so I shrug and nod. "Okay, man, Thanks. Coffee would be good." I turn and set the lamp on the counter to give him some light while he dishes the food onto plates. Then I sit at the table quietly, mulling over what the hell is going on. Jim is acting odd. Kind of nervous. A bit jumpy. But he's smiling. Things are definitely strange and getting stranger by the second. 

Jim carries over the full plates and smiles when he sets mine down in front of me. I grin at him. It looks wonderful and I'm hungry. "Oh, Jim, this looks great. Thanks." I wait while Jim makes a quick trip back to the kitchen for two steaming mugs of coffee. 

Jim sits and looks at me. "You're not eating, Chief." 

I grin at him. Sometimes he doesn't have a clue. "Man, don't you know anything about manners? I was waiting for you to sit, you dummy. The candles make me feel kind of formal, you know?" I watch as Jim's face lights up with pleasure and he smiles one of those Ellison smiles that tickle my heart. His eyes crinkle up at the edges and his mouth curves so sweetly. God, but I do love this guy. 

I manage to pick up my fork and suddenly the hunger hits me. I dive into the food. Several times between bites, I nod approvingly. "Jim, this is so great. I love this casserole." 

Every time I look at Jim, he's watching me. And I mean staring hard. He eats steadily, but he never looks at his plate. I'm amazed at his ability to eat and not look down once. I almost chuckle because he misses his mouth several times, but I don't want him to know that I'm watching him watch me. Oh, God, he's staring at me. It's hard to describe. I feel important. And attractive. And admired. Weird, I think to myself. The cold must have really affected me worse than I thought. 

I finish my dinner, sit back and pat my stomach. I look at Jim, but his eyes stare right through me. I touch his shoulder and he starts. 

"Jim? For God's sakes, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? Are you finished? I'll do the dishes." Whatever is bugging him, we're going to have to talk about this. 

I clear the table and run the dishwater. I glance over at him several times while I wash and dry the dishes. Jim is sitting like he's carved in granite with his hands on the table and his fingers clenched together. After I've done the dishes and wiped the counters down, I go over and pull a chair up next to him. I sit close with my knees almost touching his leg. I tentatively touch his arm. 

"Jim, please tell me what's wrong. I'm getting scared. Did I do something wrong?" I can't keep the concern from my voice. 

Jim looks at me and shakes his head slowly. Our eyes meet and we just lose ourselves in their depths for long seconds. Jim finally focuses. "Blair, I'm really sorry. I'm not sure what's wrong. It's just that...." He stops and clamps his lips together. The look on his face tells me loud and clear that not another word is passing through those lips about this subject. The problem is that I don't know what the subject is. 

I run a hand through my hair while I run scenarios through my brain. "Okay, Jim. Let me think. Maybe it's the storm. Your Sentinel instinct to protect the tribe might have been alerted. You can't go out and patrol, so maybe you're concentrating too much." There, that sounds very scientific. Very professional. And what the hell, it just might be the truth. 

Jim seems to be considering this explanation when suddenly I see him suck in his breath sharply and his body stiffens. I launch myself from my chair. It topples over, thudding to the floor loudly. He never even reacts to the noise. 

I put my hands on either side of his face and turn his neck towards me. He is unyielding for a second before his head swivels to face mine. "Jim! Are you in pain?" When he doesn't answer, I lean close and stare into his eyes. He seems focused. "Jim, damn it, answer me. Come on, Jim, focus. Listen to the sound of my voice." I force myself to speak in a calm, soothing manner. Something is very wrong here. 

I watch as Jim's body slowly relaxes. I watch as Jim's eyes slowly close. I watch as Jim's breathing steadies. Then I watch as Jim rubs his cheek against my hand, moaning softly. It is not the moan of someone in pain. It is the moan of someone in need. I stand very still when his hand reaches up and he encircles my wrist very lightly with his thumb and forefinger. He turns his face and brushes a kiss in the middle of my palm. A hot flash travels from my hand straight to my groin. 

I'm stunned, watching while Jim licks each finger and then he sucks my thumb into his mouth. I call to him softly, "Jim!" I'm sweating and fighting for control. I watch with utter amazement when Jim sucks each finger of my hand before he reaches for my other hand and gives it the same treatment. I am trembling from head to toe and it's not from the cold this time. It is from the heat. I give up my fight and my dick is hard quickly. My brain is becoming a useless pile of atoms the more Jim's mouth teases my fingers. Watching his lips sucking each digit is sending wave after wave of lust and passion through my body. What would it be like? I don't even dare dream it, do I? What would his mouth feel like on my body? 

Jim finally stops his assault on my hand and looks at me intently. He watches my face while he lightly rests his arm on my waist. He seems to be waiting. _Oh, Jim, say something!_ He doesn't move and my mind tries to put the puzzle in order, put the pieces in their proper places. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I am so stupid sometimes! I suck in my breath at the thought that hits me. He's waiting for me to tell him it's okay! He wants me to give him the go ahead. 

I launch myself into his lap. Honest. I throw a leg over his body and jump right into his lap and clamp a hand on either side of his face. I look deep into his beautiful eyes. "Oh, Jim!" I murmur. Then I do it, I kiss him. Oh, God. Jim's lips are warm, soft velvet. They taste like heaven and feel even better. I lap my tongue lightly across them, reveling in the Jim flavor. When my tongue flicks the lips, his mouth opens willingly. I shiver and slide my tongue into Jim's mouth for the first time. He's hot and wet. He moans and whimpers deep in his throat while I kiss him with as much passion and tenderness as I can muster. He moans while my tongue explores the nooks and crannies of his wonderful mouth. 

Our crotches are pressed against each other and we're both so hard. My dick is throbbing and dripping when I shift my body against his. I'm going to come right here and now unless I do something fast. I pull back from our kiss. Jim's face follows mine, trying to maintain contact. He moans when I separate us. I stand and put my hands under his elbows, tugging him to his feet. I guide him up the stairs to the bedroom and to the side of the bed. He follows me willingly. Our eyes are locked on each other. He has been silent, but his body is speaking in volumes. He wants me. He needs me. Please, God, please. He loves me, too. I pray that the last thought is correct. That is the most important thing to me. 

"Jim," I whisper over and over while I unbutton his shirt and run my hands over his chest, arms and back. He watches me constantly as I take off his shoes, socks, pants and boxers. His dick is beautiful, just like I knew it would be. His body is magnificent, just like I knew it would be. I press him to the bed. He lets me guide him without a single bit of resistance. He trusts me totally. I'm so happy I know I'm going to cry. I laugh through my tears. 

I'm awestruck at the trust Jim shows in me. He lets me touch him everywhere. I kiss and lick every square inch of his body. I fondle his balls. I suck his throbbing dick into my mouth. I slide my fingers into his ass. I gently rake my teeth over his nipples. Jim is shaking and crying. When I see the tears on his face, I almost panic, but when I look into his eyes, all I see is happiness. I kiss his face, licking away the tears when his orgasm crashes through him. He yells loudly as I stroke his erection, hot semen spurts everywhere. Not that I have much experience with other men's orgasms, but Jim's seems to go on forever. It's like he's finally letting go. All those inhibitions. All those torments. 

I can't help but laugh with joy. Jim lies panting loudly and shuddering at the aftershocks that course through his body. I kiss and lick away the traces of his orgasm. Jim tastes hot and salty. It is something I love instantly. I slide my hands under his shoulder and hip, nudging him until he rolls over. I run my hands over his back and down his cheeks. They are smooth and hard when the muscles flex at my touch. When I rub a finger in the valley, his legs spread in invitation. The thought hits me hard. He wants me in him. I just know it. He wants me and I want him. Jim looks at me longingly over his shoulder. He nods ever so slightly. I sit back on my heels and fish in the nightstand next to the bed, pulling out a bottle of lotion. Tonight this will have to double for lube. I am in no condition to search for proper lube, but I know I won't hurt my lover. I plan on being very gentle with him. After he has granted me this trust, I can do nothing less. 

I am rubbing the lube on my dick when Jim raises himself on his elbows and knees, granting me full access. I almost come when I see his body waiting just for me, only for me, so open, so trusting. Just waiting. I bit my lip and feel myself tearing up again. I never dreamed it would be like this. Not in a million years. It is almost more than I can process. 

I push myself against his opening, pressing gently, and caressing his body lightly with my hands. Jim responds to my ministrations by sighing and relaxing enough so that I slowly and carefully gain access a little at a time until I am buried in Jim with my balls pressed against his. 

The sensations are overwhelming when Jim's muscles contract around me. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I place a hand on his back, gently caressing while I start a slow, thrusting rhythm, listening to his responses. He is moaning and pressing back against me, meeting my thrusts with his. He is deep in that pleasure zone. His body encourages mine. His grunts and groans of ecstasy encourage me on. I can sense his growing orgasm. I slide a hand around his body and lightly brush my fingertips up and down his erection at the same time I rub his prostate. Jim's entire body freezes and he holds his breath, grabbing handfuls of sheets in his fists when the second orgasm erupts from his body. He shudders and presses back against me, contracting his ass muscles tightly around my aching erection. 

That sends me falling over the edge. I dig my fingers into his sides a bit roughly. Oh, God, the feeling when Jim's body squeezes my shaft is so wonderful that I can't even describe it. I'm shooting pulses of fiery come deep in my lover's body and I almost pass out from the strength and length of my orgasm. After the last spurt, I'm unable to hold myself up any longer, and I collapse against Jim's back while he sinks to the sheets. He is trembling and shaking. After a few deep breaths, I gently slide out and lie alongside my lover. I raise his arm and drape it across my stomach. I kiss his forehead and pull his head onto my shoulder. 

Jim trembles once again and when he raises his head to look at me, I watch his face while he struggles to open his eyes. He gazes at me adoringly through partially closed lids. Good heavens, but I must look a fright. I am smelly and my hair is a mess, and I am sticky and damp from sweat and semen. But my Jim looks at me like I'm the most beautiful person in the world. 

"Oh, God, Blair. I love you," Jim blurts out. 

I laugh loudly. He almost seems surprised. As if I had any doubts. Not a single one. "Geez, Jim, I love you," I reply, as I give him a tight hug and slap his bare ass. Jim shivers once and grins like a fool at me. He chuckles softly and puts his head back down on my shoulder, kissing my burning skin. Within seconds, he's fast asleep. 

I reach down and pull the blankets over us and soon I feel myself drifting into sleep. Suddenly, a funny thought flashes through my addled mind. I smile and snuggle closer to my lover, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his neck, while I snuffle the top of his head. Jim's short hair tickles my nose. I turn my head and rub my cheek against the softness. Now I can finally get that damned car fixed. Since I'm not worried or scared any more. 

* * *

End Shelter From the Storm by LilyK : chakbalam@netscape.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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